Dust

Dust. That’s all he ever was. That’s what I’m trying to tell myself, over and over, so I don’t forget. Don’t forget him. But I should. I need to stop caring about him. It’s in the past. But you just can’t seem to let him go. I need to let him go. Let dust be just that- meaningless sand. I need to focus on the present and future, you know? There’s revenge to be taken, graves to be cleaned. I can’t fixate on what’s beneath the ground. I still can’t bring myself to look at the headstone. They say nothing’s set in stone, but his name’s carved in slate. I remember the first time I’d heard it. My name’s [DON’T REMEMBER IT], he’d said. I’d say it was music to my ears, but his nasal voice was more like a kazoo. You really shouldn’t say those sort of things about him. But I do anyway. He was only ever dust. I shouldn’t try to remember him. I can’t remember him. I need to stop looking in the rearview mirror and stare out the windshield instead. At least then I’d be able to see the animals running into the road. That’s what he did. I keep reminding myself that, that he was suffering. But it wasn’t intentional. He’d just wanted a snack from the grocery store. Was that a crime? He’d wanted a muffin for a dollar ninety-five. He’d paid with his life.